Chapter 35: Xiao Yun and Xiao Hua

Tan Xueci had no idea how much time had passed; he only felt as if his body had melted into a pool of water. Although the evil spirit’s hands and breath were ice-cold, his own body was terrifyingly hot, and his hairline was damp with sweat. He looked at the specter with a blurred gaze, his pale, beautiful cheeks so red and burning that he didn’t even dare touch them himself.

Initially, he had wanted to push He Xunye away, but his strength had completely evaporated. His slender fingers trembled, eventually doing nothing more than weakly clutching the ghost’s black hair.

“Enough…” Tan Xueci gave a small sniffle, but he couldn’t suppress the tears welling in his eyes. His voice was muffled and shaky. With a frustrated little face, he said somewhat aggrievedly, “That’s enough, right?”

He felt as if he were about to melt into snow-water, yet He Xunye was still buried against his chest and neck, sniffing incessantly like a dog. It was truly annoying.

He Xunye gripped his waist, hoisted him by the backside, and pulled him onto his lap. Then, he tilted his head up to nuzzle Tan Xueci’s small, pretty Adam’s apple. Tan Xueci tried desperately to dodge, his palms slapping weakly and softly against the ghost’s face—he didn’t even know how many times he’d hit him. A crimson blood-lust surged in the specter’s eyes, and he suddenly bit down on Tan Xueci’s collarbone.

“Nng…” Tan Xueci shivered from the pain, his lips curling downward unhappily. Flushed and embarrassed, he pushed at He Xunye’s head and whispered, “What are you even smelling?”

“Baby smells so good,” the evil spirit replied, seemingly unaware that he had done anything excessive. His tongue—longer and more vivid than a human’s—flicked out to lick the tiny beads of blood. The small wound on the pale collarbone healed in an instant, but the ghost’s voice grew even lower and hoarser. He muttered unclearly, “Like a little lamb.”

Tan Xueci’s eyes were misty with tears; he was too dazed to react when his chin was suddenly pinched and his lips were blocked. He opened his mouth in panic, trying to gasp for air, but the ghost took the opportunity to force its way past his lips. The cold tongue drove straight in, entangling his own, creating a messy, wet sound in the darkened car.

Even the evil spirit seemed to pause for a moment. This was the first time they had kissed like this—not a mere shallow taste. If Tan Xueci hadn’t suddenly called him “Hubby” so obediently and timidly in the funeral hall yesterday—making him curious about what the boy was up to—he would have licked Tan Xueci’s tongue out and sucked on it just like this on their wedding night.

He would have pressed him down onto that wedding suit and done much worse—the things a husband should do.

He had thought he possessed enough patience, but now he began to regret it. Had he known his wife’s tongue was this soft and his waist this thin, he should have claimed his rights much sooner.

When his tongue was held, Tan Xueci’s scalp went numb for a second. His fingers curled uncontrollably against the ghost’s shoulders, but that meager strength couldn’t budge the other. The evil spirit continued to hook his tongue, grinding against him, even unconsciously simulating the motions of thrusting, pushing against his red, soft throat until his gullet felt swollen.

With the ghost’s large hands clutching his waist and pinning him down, Tan Xueci had nowhere to move. He could barely contain his saliva, and his mouth was being eaten until it was soft and numb. It seemed there was no other choice but to slump in the ghost’s embrace and offer up his tongue.

As the ghost’s tongue licked his throat, Tan Xueci’s eyelashes clumped together from the moisture. With his throat blocked, he could only breathe through his nose. But after crying for a while, his nose was also stuffed; his face turned a deep red from the lack of oxygen, and he was nearly suffocating.

Tan Xueci let out a sob.

No.

The ghost’s hands pressed against his thin back, moving up and down with unknown intent. Tears overflowed instantly as Tan Xueci fought back desperately, his legs flailing. But the space in the car was too small; he couldn’t fully extend his legs, making it look as though he were actively rubbing and squeezing against the ghost, though he was unaware of it, struggling like a fish on a chopping block.

The evil spirit’s cold breath grew heavy. Strands of black hair brushed over his brow, and his dark phoenix eyes burned like a thick, murky black fire. His fingertips felt like tongues of flame, ready to consume him.

“Hu… Hubby,” Tan Xueci’s white eyelids were stained red. Desperate, he actively licked He Xunye, trying to get him to retract his tongue. After several trembling licks, the ghost finally moved his tongue aside slightly. He managed to stammer out a choked murmur, “Mm… Hubby, I… I’m scared…”

“What are you afraid of?” The ghost bit his full, ruby lower lip, pulling it until it was slightly deformed before letting go. He watched the flesh snap back, savoring the look of even greater shame and terror on Tan Xueci’s beautiful face. He smiled and said, “Hubby just wanted to kiss you, that’s all. Why is Baby as scared as if you’ve seen a ghost?”

Tan Xueci’s face was a mess of tear tracks, and his lips were bitten swollen. Finally finding a moment of freedom, he hurriedly covered his mouth with his hand. His eyes were wide, and tears fell pitter-patter, one by one, though he couldn’t make a sound.

He Xunye pulled him into his arms and looked toward the back seat as if worried for his wife. He asked, “Did Baby really see a ghost?”

It would have been better if he hadn’t said it. The moment he spoke, Tan Xueci felt as if some “thing” had been watching them kiss the whole time. He wanted to scream, but fearing the ghost would use the chance to eat his mouth again, he swallowed it back.

He buried his head in He Xunye’s chest, trembling. “Hu… Hubby, I’m scared. Let’s go back, waah…”

He actually started crying. He Xunye patted his back and rested his chin on top of the boy’s head, coaxing him, “Don’t cry, don’t cry, Xiao Xue. Hubby is taking you back to sleep.”

Tan Xueci was small and soft in his arms, perfect for carrying around. He Xunye couldn’t resist toying with him.

If he pinched his arm, Tan Xueci would at most wrinkle his face and look at him with red eyes. If he squeezed his thigh, Tan Xueci would only blush and whisper that he “couldn’t touch there.” If he squeezed his little bottom… well, he might get a slap, but he figured he could probably still squeeze it.

The evil spirit’s lips curled into a smile. He leaned in and kissed Tan Xueci’s cheek.

Tan Xueci’s eyes went wide, and his tears turned from drops into a torrent. He was sobbing so hard he couldn’t speak.

He Xunye helped tidy his clothes. Three buttons at the top of Tan Xueci’s hoodie were gone, exposing half of his pale chest and the red marks that had been sucked onto his skin.

Apparently, some “dirty thing” hadn’t kept its promise; not only had it smelled him all over, but it had taken advantage of his wife’s naivety to do much worse.

The evil spirit kindly took off his own suit jacket, draped it over his wife’s shoulders, and carried him out of the car.

Tan Xueci clutched the collar of He Xunye’s jacket, hiding his face for fear of being caught by paparazzi. He bit his swollen lower lip, thinking bitterly: If I’m photographed like this, they’ll definitely say I look pure on the outside but play very ‘wild’ in private.

He didn’t want that at all.

Once they reached the elevator, Tan Xueci warily checked the surroundings before finally poking his messy head out from under the jacket. The tips of his white ears were pink and drooping—he didn’t look like he’d been kissed; he looked like his essence had been drained by a male ghost.

“Baby,” the evil spirit said, looking perfectly human and dignified again. He took his wife’s hand and said apologetically, “Are you angry? I just felt that since we’ve been married for a while, we could take things a step further. I’m sorry I scared you.”

His attitude was so good, and the marriage was a fact, so if Tan Xueci stayed angry, it would feel like he was being unreasonable.

Of course, Tan Xueci didn’t have time to stay angry. When He Xunye spoke, a sudden chill hit his lower waist, and his heart tightened. What does he mean? Surely He Xunye doesn’t want to ‘poke’ my butt?

He only had one butt. Why did everyone want to poke it? Couldn’t they leave him one clean butt?

Besides, what was the use of poking him? He couldn’t even give birth.

Tan Xueci bit his finger sorrowfully, his brain racing through a storm of thoughts, but he couldn’t find a way out. It seemed he could only obediently offer it up and perform some useless labor that wouldn’t result in a child.

He thought He Xunye was going to do it tonight. Once they got to the room, he sat on the bed hugging his legs, his face full of dread. He fumbled to turn on the TV to distract himself.

It was late at night, and many programs were off-air. His mind was a mess. He randomly flipped through channels. A movie was playing:

Midnight Train Horror

Tan Xueci: “…”

He switched again.

Bunshinsaba vs. Sadako

Again.

Don’t Open the Door for Ghosts at Midnight

Tan Xueci: “…”

Finally, he switched to an agricultural channel. A farmer was introducing his lush, prize-winning cucumbers. They were thick, large, and green, their reflection casting a yellowish tint on Tan Xueci’s pale face.

He Xunye, having washed the hoodie his wife had cried all over and sewn the buttons back on, came out to see Tan Xueci looking solemn, staring at the TV as if he’d suddenly developed a passion for farming.

He Xunye: “…”

Tan Xueci didn’t know what the ghost was thinking, and in truth, the ghost often didn’t know what Tan Xueci was thinking either. One wasn’t a normal human, the other wasn’t a normal ghost; He Xunye had always felt they were a perfect match.

While Tan Xueci was staring solemnly at the TV, he was suddenly dragged onto the bed. A hand pressed the back of his head, and a kiss came down. His eyes snapped wide in terror as he gripped the fabric of He Xunye’s chest, thinking his butt was about to be poked right now.

Instead, after the ghost finished the kiss, he used his thumb to wipe the saliva from Tan Xueci’s lips, gave his bottom a light, casual pat, and said, “Go to sleep, Baby.”

Tan Xueci watched him warily, but the evil spirit just lay down beside him, appearing ready to sleep.

Technically, specters don’t need sleep. He couldn’t actually sleep; he just lay beside his wife and listened to the boy’s breathing.

Tan Xueci was a restless sleeper and a coward. Once asleep, he would instinctively crawl toward the cold source, snuggling into He Xunye’s embrace.

At first, he’d be startled by the cold, but he never learned. After a while, he’d rustle back over, wrap his arms around the ghost’s waist, and even drape a leg over him.

Even though he was a ghost, He Xunye found being a husband to Tan Xueci quite pleasant. When Tan Xueci curled into a small ball in his arms, eyes misty and clutching his clothes even in sleep, the ghostly aura around him seemed to dissipate slightly.

Tan Xueci slept fitfully all night. He dreamed of a ghost burying its face in his butt, which made him cry in his sleep, yet he was stuck in a state of sleep paralysis and couldn’t wake up.

When he finally opened his eyes the next day, Tan Xueci made up his mind. Whether he was a mental patient having a dream or there were real ghosts, he couldn’t stay here anymore.

Xie Yun’s medicine seemed to have failed again. He had to find a Taoist. If he were mentally ill, a Taoist would provide psychological comfort; once he felt safe, he might get better. If there were real ghosts, he’d have them all captured and sold off.

He felt his “husband” had been possessed by a ghost too—his husband used to be so gentle.

Tan Xueci bit his lip resentfully. His mouth was still a bit swollen and felt chilly inside. He Xunye’s tongue was so cold, yet he’d kept licking him like he was under a spell.

He Xunye was gone by dawn. Tan Xueci ate breakfast gloomily at the hotel and then took a taxi to Qilian Temple.

He didn’t trust the Taoist Wen Yaochuan had brought—to be blunt, he didn’t really trust Wen Yaochuan. Wen Yaochuan had been badgering him to find a Taoist; when he’d hesitated, Wen had just brought one to the set.

It was fishy.

Tan Xueci had encountered more malice in his life than kindness. He couldn’t always distinguish who was truly good to him, but he was very sensitive to who was treating him badly.

Since Qilian Temple could transcend a ghost infant, maybe they could catch ghosts too. They seemed very spiritually advanced.

But when he arrived this time, he was turned away at the door.

Before he even reached the mountain gate, the young monk from the night before bowed from a distance and said, “Please return, Patron. My Master says that he cannot help you with what you wish to do.”

“…” Tan Xueci’s heart sank. Could this ghost be so powerful that even a high monk can’t subdue it?

The monk gave no further explanation and simply asked him to leave. Tan Xueci had no choice but to head back.

He searched for nearby Taoist temples and found one called Qingya Temple. He immediately took a taxi there.

Qingya Temple was adjacent to a steep cliff. It was late autumn, and the mountain wind was whistling and cold. This time, a lean, scholarly-looking priest received him.

The priest, wearing a deep blue robe, frowned as he studied Tan Xueci. When he spoke, his words were similar to the previous Taoist’s, though his tone was less certain: “It is best to have a memorial tablet or remains. This evil spirit has already manifested as a specter, and in life, he was likely no ordinary person. I can only try my best.”

Is he really that strong?

Tan Xueci’s face was pale, his palms sweaty. He promised to bring the items as soon as possible and returned to the hotel.

His scenes for the day were mostly in the afternoon. After all that running around, he arrived back at the hotel thinking the others would be filming, but to his surprise, everyone was gathered in the assistant director’s room.

Changing hotels hadn’t helped; it was still haunted. Jin Chen said the female ghost looking for her child didn’t even care that he was around her age; he felt that even if a seventy or eighty-year-old man showed up, she’d probably try to take him away as her child.

Wen Yaochuan was very silent today. He sat on the sofa with his head down, holding the photo the principal had given him.

Tan Xueci stood hesitantly at the door when a chilling, ghostly low voice sounded behind him: “It will be tonight.”

Tan Xueci’s breath hitched. When he turned and saw He Xunye’s face, his heart hammered wildly. No matter how many times it happened, he couldn’t stand these sudden appearances.

Outside, it was overcast and rainy. The ghost’s pale, handsome face seemed veiled in a dim mist, making it hard to see clearly.

The ghost smiled, holding his shoulders to guide him inside to a seat. He had already reserved a spot for Tan Xueci.

Lu Qi had wanted to sit there, but the moment he sat down, he felt as if he were sinking endlessly into the floor, as if he were being buried alive. He had scrambled away, trembling, and no one else dared sit there either.

Tan Xueci sat down unknowingly and remained perfectly fine. The crew’s gaze toward him filled with a bit more reverence.

What ‘ghost-attractor’? This is clearly an exorcist. Wherever Tan Xueci went, evil seemed to recoil.

The priest Wen Yaochuan had hired seemed useless. The assistant director had sent for He Wuling, but until he arrived, no one dared to start filming, fearing people would drop dead at every turn.

They waited in silence for hours. Occasionally, people would pointedly walk past Tan Xueci, hoping to “borrow” some of his luck.

Little did they know they were just soaking up Yin energy.

Wen Yaochuan paid no attention to the commotion. He was still staring at the photo when his eye suddenly twitched. He looked up at Meng Zhi in terror, his long-maintained composure nearly crumbling.

The principal hadn’t said it, but those in the know were aware that the girl who died back then was named He Xiaoyun. Wen Yaochuan just realized that the girl standing next to He Xiaoyun in the photo was Meng Zhi.

The Meng Zhi in the photo was only sixteen, with thick bangs, a bit of baby fat, and glasses. She was naturally pretty, but her adolescence hadn’t been glamorous; in that class, she looked quite plain and mousey, completely different from how she looked now.

That was why Wen Yaochuan had only just recognized her.

“Teacher Wen?” The assistant director noticed Wen Yaochuan’s complexion was off and asked worriedly, “Are you alright?”

If Wen Yaochuan collapsed, the production would truly be doomed.

A dark shadow seemed to cloud Wen Yaochuan’s handsome face. His lips were pale. He opened and closed his mouth several times but said nothing. He stood up abruptly and headed for the bathroom, wanting to splash his face with water.

There was a bathroom in the assistant director’s room, but when he stepped inside, what he saw wasn’t a hotel vanity, but a long, public-style restroom.

Wen Yaochuan hesitated, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong. He turned on the faucet to wash his face, but as soon as the water started running, he heard footsteps behind him. He spun around to find Zhai Fang.

“Yo,” Zhai Fang said, coming out of a stall. He raised a hand in greeting and stood next to him to wash his hands. “Brother Wen.”

Wen Yaochuan was dazed. He felt Zhai Fang shouldn’t be here because Zhai Fang hadn’t moved hotels with them. But why hadn’t he moved?

He couldn’t remember. Combined with his poor state of mind, he said nothing, only giving a vague hum in response.

“Brother Wen,” Zhai Fang suddenly spoke. “That text message… you were the one who sent it to Tan Xueci using my phone, weren’t you?”

“…” Wen Yaochuan froze. “What?”

The bathroom lights were dim and cold. Zhai Fang’s face looked blue-white under the glow. He smiled and said, “The text. Didn’t you tell Tan Xueci to bring the wine to the third floor? To that private room where someone was burned to death?”

Zhai Fang liked to boss Tan Xueci around, but he was too lazy to type; he always sent voice notes. Since he had an eccentric personality and was known for being demanding, Tan Xueci probably hadn’t thought much of it at the time and just went.

Wen Yaochuan’s face went blank, and his body swayed. Ah, right. It seems I did send it.

That day, he’d said he was treating everyone to dinner. After parting with Tan Xueci, he’d messaged Zhai Fang and the others saying he’d just found out the hotpot restaurant had closed and was changing the location. But he hadn’t messaged Tan Xueci.

When he met Zhai Fang and the others, he’d pretended his phone was broken, borrowed Zhai Fang’s phone, sent the text to Tan Xueci, immediately deleted the record, and handed the phone back.

He’d timed it so that Tan Xueci would already be in that room by the time he messaged him about the location change.

He’d cleared his own suspicion, but Tan Xueci was trapped in a ghost domain and obviously couldn’t see the messages.

He had lured Tan Xueci there… but for what?

Wen Yaochuan couldn’t remember. He felt a surge of inexplicable panic. He pushed Zhai Fang away forcefully and headed for the exit, saying coldly, “Stop talking nonsense.”

“Oh my, oh my,” Zhai Fang followed him relentlessly, his tone turning icy and venomous. “I wasn’t a good person, so I deserved to die. But why are you still alive? It really doesn’t sit right with me…”

Wen Yaochuan had reached the stairs. Having been a superstar for years, he hadn’t heard anyone speak to him like that in a long time. He frowned and turned back. “You—”

As soon as he turned, he saw that Zhai Fang’s facial features had vanished, replaced by a slab of smooth white flesh. Yet somehow, it felt as though he were smiling. Zhai Fang’s hand, covered in corpse spots, pressed against Wen Yaochuan’s shoulder and shoved him down.

Before Wen Yaochuan could react, he tumbled down the stairs. He lay on the ground for a long time, unable to get up. Blood was gushing from the back of his head, blurring his vision. He heard a thump, thump, thump sound nearby, like someone hopping on one leg.

Then, a girl’s bloody foot appeared before his eyes. His soul shook with terror as he looked up to see a flowery, smiling face.

The assistant director and the others sat in the room in silence until they suddenly heard something fall in the hallway—a heavy thud.

The assistant director was startled and moved to open the door, but when he did, he saw He Wuling.

He Wuling was still accompanied by several disciples. With a solemn face, he told the assistant director, “You don’t need to go out.”

Then he looked at Meng Zhi. “What was He Xiaoyun to you?”

Meng Zhi’s thin body shuddered. She broke into a cold sweat and slowly hugged her arms. She hadn’t wanted to speak, but when He Wuling handed her a yellowed name tag that read “He Xiaoyun,” her tears fell instantly.

“She…” Meng Zhi’s lips trembled. “She was my classmate.”

Back then, she wasn’t called Meng Zhi. Her family was poor, and she didn’t look like the beautiful heroine in the movie Entangled. No boys liked her, and no villains had a secret crush on her. She was just an ordinary girl who was bullied because her original name was “ugly.”

Until the tenth grade, when she went to a new school and met He Xiaoyun. They were deskmates for about half a year.

He Xiaoyun was her opposite: beautiful and cheerful. One day, Meng Zhi mustered the courage to tell her she didn’t like her name. He Xiaoyun didn’t laugh; instead, she rested her face in her hands and asked, “What do you want to be called then?”

Outside their window was a tree. At that time, the gardenias were in bloom. He Xiaoyun watched them for a while, then sat up and drew a small flower on the page of a textbook. With bright eyes, she said, “Then you can be called Meng Zhi (Dream Gardenia).”

From then on, they were Xiao Yun (Little Cloud) and Xiao Hua (Little Flower).

They used to giggle in class and get scolded by the teacher and made to stand in the hall, but neither of them ever felt unhappy.

He Xiaoyun dreamed of being an actress. She had a celebrity she adored. She often told Meng Zhi, “You don’t know how hard he works. He comes from a humble background too and played many small roles to get where he is. I think he’ll be a Best Actor one day. I wish I could act with him.”

Meng Zhi supported her and often accompanied her to see that star’s movies. They watched them all, even visiting every place he had ever been. Then one day, He Xiaoyun told her excitedly, “Xiao Hua, I met him!”

Unlike many peers, He Xiaoyun loved children. She volunteered at a Beijing orphanage on weekends. One day, she was trying to lift a heavy box alone. Seeing a new guy working nearby, she tapped him on the shoulder.

The guy wore a black baseball cap and a mask, but when he looked up, she recognized his eyes instantly. It was Wen Yaochuan.

He wasn’t just a distant star to her anymore.

They both frequented that orphanage and soon started dating in secret. He Xiaoyun often told Meng Zhi, “Xiao Hua, Xiao Hua, I’m telling you, he’s really good to me.”

Wen Yaochuan was twenty-three then, seven years older than her, but still young. The age gap was blurred.

Meng Zhi had been hesitant; she felt something wasn’t right. Wen Yaochuan seemed too old for them, or rather, He Xiaoyun was too young. But a teenager never thinks they are too young, so she watched as He Xiaoyun fell into a beautiful dream.

Until He Xiaoyun became more silent, her face more haggard. And then, she died.

“I didn’t know,” Meng Zhi sobbed. “I really knew nothing. I tried to find Wen Yaochuan, but I had no proof they were ever together.”

To protect Wen Yaochuan, He Xiaoyun never mentioned his private affairs in texts, not out of distrust for Meng Zhi, but for fear that if either of them lost their phone, it would cause trouble for him.

Everything had been discussed in person.

“I always felt Xiaoyun’s death had something to do with Wen Yaochuan,” Meng Zhi looked up, her face tear-stained. “I just couldn’t accept it. I wanted to see him, so I applied to the film academy.”

She hadn’t expected to meet him so soon, let alone act opposite him in the same crew.

But on set, Wen Yaochuan’s conduct was beyond reproach. He was polite and always a gentleman during filming. Even if you didn’t like him, it was hard not to have a good impression.

Meng Zhi didn’t give up. After Zhai Fang died, she pretended she admired Wen Yaochuan because he’d saved her, and she got closer to him.

Wen Yaochuan was indeed a bit kinder to her, but she wasn’t sixteen anymore. She felt this kindness was more about winning people over; he wasn’t in love with her.

She had failed. She hadn’t uncovered anything. She only suspected He Xiaoyun might have been turned into one of those “Meat Ganoderma.”

He Xiaoyun had told her that her mother, He Xiaoyun (Little Cloud), had died when she was very young. She lived with her father at her grandparents’ house. To remember her mother, the family wanted to name her “Little Cloud” as well, but they felt “Cloud” was too fleeting, as if she might drift away at any moment. So they added the “grass” radical to the character (making it ‘Yun’ for Rue), hoping she would always be full of life and never leave.

He Xiaoyun had loved that name, but in the end, it became a tragic prophecy.

When Wen Yaochuan saw that foot on the ground, his face went white. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the blood from his head, and tried to flee. He ran down the pitch-black corridor, but there seemed to be no end.

The narrow hallway felt as oppressive as hell, reminding him of the first time he’d heard of Meat Ganoderma.

He’d started acting at fourteen and was an overnight success. Around twenty-two, his career hit a bottleneck. He couldn’t get good scripts and was stuck in supporting roles. Then, a company executive took him to eat Meat Ganoderma; they wanted to give him a push so he’d make the company more money.

Wen Yaochuan had guessed the truth, but he ate it anyway. Soon, scripts poured in. He won his first major award for one of those films. Although it wasn’t Best Actor, the media predicted he’d be the next dark horse.

The pressure was immense. He really did work hard and stayed disciplined. He wanted to be famous, to be a good actor… how did it turn into this?

He couldn’t sleep night after night. To atone, he volunteered at an orphanage and met He Xiaoyun.

He Xiaoyun supported him and understood him. All his pressure and tears found an outlet with her. He thought he loved her.

But dating a high school girl was too risky. He was getting more famous, and He Xiaoyun was a ticking time bomb.

When he tried to break up, she refused. During an argument, he accidentally killed her.

The company executives were in league with some “Master.” Wen Yaochuan didn’t know how they found out, but just as he was panicking over the body, they called. They told him to dismember her, saying they needed fresh Meat Ganoderma.

As long as he did that, they could easily cover up the murder and save his career.

Terrified of being caught, he agreed. But as he was dismembering her, after removing one leg, he realized something was wrong. He Xiaoyun was very thin, but her stomach was slightly, abnormally distended. She was pregnant.

Fear, guilt, pain, regret—like a gambler at the end of his rope, he sat paralyzed by her body, unable to make a sound.

But the company was excited. The resentment of a “two lives in one” death was immense and more potent; they could even raise the child as a “Little Ghost.”

Wen Yaochuan didn’t dare touch her body again. The company sent people to take it. Then, the hauntings began. Her body kept vanishing and reappearing at the school. It took a high-level master to finally subdue her.

Wen Yaochuan had contributed greatly and entered the inner circle of the Meat Ganoderma trade. He got a new movie, playing a Taoist priest. A year after He Xiaoyun died, he won Best Actor.

Partly out of dedication and partly out of fear, he had studied some Taoist arts. He actually had a bit of talent for it and could vaguely see the Yin energy on people.

His career was smooth for several years until recently when it hit another snag. The executives were unhappy and wanted him to find more “Meat Ganoderma.”

He’d seen Tan Xueci at an event. It was just a glance, but Tan’s Yin energy was so thick he couldn’t ignore it. He told He Biansheng to get Tan Xueci into the cast, saying he’d only play the lead if Tan were in it.

He Biansheng had naturally done his best to find Tan.

This production was never meant to be finished; it was destined for death. They had killed too many people to make Meat Ganoderma, and the spirits’ resentment could no longer be suppressed. Making this movie was just a reasonable excuse to gather a group of people, have them eat a bit of Meat Ganoderma, and then let the ghosts slaughter the entire crew to appease their wrath.

A crew of over a hundred would be enough to sate them for a while. Two or three survivors would be left, and Wen Yaochuan would be one of them. He could say his knowledge of Taoism allowed him to escape. It might hurt his reputation slightly, but not much.

But things hadn’t gone as planned. They couldn’t catch Tan Xueci, and the crew started dying inexplicably.

Wen Yaochuan realized Tan Xueci must be raising a ghost—a malicious one—that was clearing out anyone who tried to harm him.

Wen Yaochuan was panting as he ran. He suddenly felt a pair of cold, soft arms wrap around his neck, as icy as a corpse. They tightened around his throat, forcing his head back. His eyes bulged as he saw a pool of fresh blood ahead.

Red lotuses bloomed one by one in the pool. At the center of each flower was He Biansheng’s head. Countless He Bianshengs with elongated limbs formed the white lotus roots—eerie and divine.

“The flowers have bloomed,” the female ghost murmured.

She had intended to drag Wen Yaochuan to hell with her, even if her own soul was shattered. But then a lotus pond appeared in her path, filled with Little Flowers.

The Little Flower who wanted to be her deskmate forever, the Little Flower who promised to go to the same university… blood-tears fell from the ghost’s eyes.

“Hm… it’s Xiao Xue’s husband,” she tilted her head, looking at the churning sea of blood. “Then I won’t die.”

She gently released Wen Yaochuan’s neck and gave his shoulder a shove. Wen Yaochuan fell into the lotus pond. His body shattered into several pieces, becoming nourishment for the flowers.

She had sent the child-ghost next to Zhai Fang to push Tan Xueci toward the school, hoping he’d see something and take it outside. But Tan Xueci had been followed by an evil spirit.

She had watched as the evil spirit inexplicably became a teacher and trapped Tan Xueci in an office to “play,” and she had hated him until she bled from the mouth, thinking all was lost.

She hadn’t expected the evil spirit to help after all.

As Meng Zhi wept, He Wuling’s face darkened as he explained the whole story.

“Wait,” Jin Chen interrupted after He Wuling finished. “I never ate that stuff. Why was I haunted too?”

He had joined the crew late and missed He Biansheng’s dinner.

He Wuling glanced at him and sneered, “Have you never eaten the crew’s box lunches?”

Jin Chen’s face went pale instantly.

Tan Xueci was also startled, but before he could feel afraid, the cold temperature of the ghost embraced him from behind. The voice was muddled as it said, “Baby didn’t eat it. I don’t like Baby eating dirty things.”

As the crew members were lost in their own thoughts, a scream from a hotel maid echoed through the hall. They rushed out to find Wen Yaochuan—who was supposed to be in the bathroom—now in the hallway. He had fallen down the stairs, and his body was in pieces, scattered everywhere.

They were afraid, but aside from the hotel staff, the crew was silent. No one knew what to say.

The priest who came with Wen Yaochuan was detained by He Wuling’s men, to be taken back to Mt. Lao for his sect to deal with.

He Wuling also sent men to find the factory. Tan Xueci had sent him over an hour of voice notes—each one a minute long—which had made him regret ever marrying off a “fool.”

The factory had gone unnoticed because it sat at the junction of the living and the dead; neither the living nor the dead could see it. Only someone like Tan Xueci, a living person with heavy Yin energy, could easily enter.

Once located and forced to manifest, it was just a normal factory. He Wuling called the police to handle the murder charges.

As for the souls inside, monks from Qilian Temple came to handle them. There were too many—including those whose souls had already dissipated. Over ten years, there were more than three hundred victims, mostly infants. The resentment was immense. It would take eighty-one days of chanting and a massive ritual to fully transcend them.

By the time things were settled, it was past 3:00 AM. The company had collapsed, and the movie was truly finished.

The assistant director suddenly remembered he’d eaten human meat. Pale-faced, he tried to find He Wuling, but He Wuling was already gone. He could only wail, “What do I do? Will I die?”

Lu Qi and the others had eaten it too. Tan Xueci turned and looked expectantly at He Xunye, whispering, “Hubby.”

“Tell them to eat these directly, and they can vomit the meat out,” the ghost smiled, handing him several talismans. “But… well, the talismans I draw have heavy Yin energy. Cold will enter their bodies. They might have diarrhea for three days.”

He wasn’t even bothering to hide his nature anymore. Fortunately, Tan Xueci was preoccupied with the paper and didn’t quite catch it.

“You can give them one of your pills; they won’t have diarrhea then,” the ghost circled his wife’s waist, staring at the boy’s worried little face. With a low, wicked chuckle, he added, “Of course, if Xiao Xue doesn’t like someone, you don’t have to give them one.”

Tan Xueci was dazed. Aren’t my pills for mental illness? He didn’t understand, but he obediently took the talismans and handed them out, mimicking his husband’s words: “Eat this directly and you’ll be fine.”

“Teacher Tan!”

“Waah, I’m not praying to Buddha anymore, I’m praying to you.”

“…”

The crew members now treated Tan Xueci as their savior.

Tan Xueci’s white cheeks were flushed, and his eyes sparkled. He loved being liked by everyone. He ran around handing out talismans and even took out his little bottle of medicine.

After eating the talisman, Meng Zhi vomited a piece of white meat. She was so disgusted she almost cried again, then took the pill Tan Xueci gave her.

A hand patted her shoulder—it seemed to be a female makeup artist from the crew. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see the person’s face. The person handed her a cup of water, their voice and steps light and cheerful. “Drink some.”

“Thank you…” Meng Zhi thanked her hurriedly and drank it all to settle her stomach. But after drinking, she froze. On the back of the paper cup, a small flower had been drawn.

Tan Xueci was still handing out talismans. The ghost leaned against the back of the sofa, his eyes following the boy’s every move.

The female makeup artist paused. Perhaps because Tan Xueci and Meng Zhi had become friends, if she died, Meng Zhi would be sad; if Meng Zhi were sad, Tan Xueci would be unhappy.

That was why the ghost had stopped her, preventing her from following through with her plan to perish along with Wen Yaochuan.

Her figure dissolved into white mist and gently faded away. Truly terrifying. Scared a ghost to death. This evil spirit is about to fall in love with a human.